


Sparks

by machka



Category: Bandom: The Anthemic, Real Person Fiction, Tulsa Gangstas
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-15
Updated: 2009-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 02:57:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/machka/pseuds/machka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He needs it, and so do you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparks

**Author's Note:**

> Written from Andy's POV. And hey -- David doesn't even really figure into this in the slightest. HOW DID I MANAGE THAT??
> 
> Takes place after an unspecified "Declaration" show -- you can place it wherever you wish, but DAMN the Biloxi show would surely qualify as kick-assed enough. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. The events described therein are not intended to represent actual events. No libel or defamation is intended in posting said fictitious work.
> 
> In other words, it's not real, because I made it all up.

You can't help but smile at Dave's wide grin, face lit up from within with some kind of beatific joy as he wraps his arms around Joey and Kyle's shoulders, dragging them in tightly for hugs.

Dave beams, literally beams at you -- all of you -- and lets out a whoop of relief.

"Thank God that's over," he crows, and your smile broadens, knowing exactly what he means -- not that he's happy the show's over, but that it's out of the way, it's under all of your belts, and you all made it -- you survived.

His laughter is infectious as he swings the members of his rhythm section around, conducting them on wobbly legs toward the wings.

"C'mon, guys, let's go get cleaned up and hit some bars!" he says, catching your eye. "You up for it, Skib? Tiemann?"

You're turning to follow, automatically, but your gaze slips sideways to the latter man, lagging behind them, and you stop dead in your tracks.

Neal's eyes meet yours, an unspoken message flashing within them, and your heart stutters in your chest.

"In a minute, Dave," you reply, watching Neal's eyes go dark in response. "We'll be there in a minute..."

Dave shoots you a knowing look as he steers Joey and Kyle past; just a hint of a wink and the slightest jerk of his head as he goes by.

He _knows,_ but it's all right.

And then it's just the two of you, alone; and Neal is staring intently at your back as you watch the others depart. You wait a few seconds until they are out of sight and gone before you follow.

You know he's moving after you, damn near _stalking_ you...but that's okay too.

He needs this.

In a way, so do you.

His steps quicken to match the beat of your heart, and you turn back to meet him half-way.

And it's comforting how it's always the same... The same dishevelment of his hair as he rakes a hand through it, the feral look in his eyes, the energy rolling off him in waves...

He touches you and it's like sparks, every single time. A bolt of _some_ thing arcs across the distance between you, and an answering jolt rips through you like feedback, the polarity drawing you closer.

It would certainly look like violence to an outsider, the way he crushes you against him; the way his kiss is mostly teeth, that hand snarled in your hair, the way your head is yanked back to meet his mouth...

But you are the one pulling him closer, grinding your groins together, biting his lip in return.

He pushes you (and you drag him) until your shoulders slam into the wall behind you, so hard (and so _hard_ ) that it takes your breath away.

But he's just as breathless as you are, with your fingers already quick at work on his belt. There's activity and movement, fingers fumbling on zippers, and his cock heavy and warm in your hand, its weight reassuring and familiar.

He presses his forehead to your shoulder and groans softly, the only outward sign of neediness he will allow.

And you're about to slide down the wall, just about to drop to your knees, but his hand on the waistband of your jeans prevents you. Your cock is pulled free from its confines, and your hand removed from his dick, replaced by his own.

"Can't wait, Andy," he growls, beginning to stroke himself. "Can't."

You've heard that growl countless times before, but tonight, it's different. Everything's different. Different songs, different venue, different bandmates, a vastly different situation...

But one thing will never change - that shiver which runs down your spine when that sound hits your ears.

And you're quickly mirroring each other, with foreheads pressed to collarbones, and free arms slung around opposite necks, panting in tandem; two gazes directed downward, focused and locked on two hands moving over twin erections with only one goal in mind.

"Holy shit, Andy... Holy fucking shit..."

His voice is as harsh as his breathing in your ear.

He's close, so close...

"C'mon, Neal, show me," you whisper hoarsely. "Let it go..."

His hips snap forward, and he buries his face against your neck with another groan, long and low, his teeth sinking into your skin.

"Yes," you hiss, your cock twitching in your hand. "That's it, Neal... C'mon, do it. Come for me..."

He shudders once, violently, and you watch him spill onto the ground at your feet.

The sight alone might've been enough to set you off, but it's really the way he says your name as he comes, the way he twists it, breathes it, offers it up like a prayer... That's what sends you over the edge along with him.

And for a minute or two, his weight against you, pressing you into the wall, is the only thing holding you both up.

You're the first to manage to find your voice.

"You good?"

He sighs softly, murmuring contentment. Unfortunately, this is not the time or the place to get comfortable.

"C'mon, man, we need to go."

He mumbles a protest and leans into you a bit more, his breath hot and wet against your neck.

"Seriously, Neal; they're gonna come looking for us. You know the drill..."

His lips are moving against your skin again, and it takes all of the willpower you possess not to wrap your arms around him and draw him nearer. Instead, you are squirming sideways and nudging him away; tucking you both back into your jeans and avoiding the hungry look in his eyes.

"Later, man," you finally whisper, squeezing his arm lightly as you take a step back. "There'll be time enough for everything later."

His eyes rekindle with that promise as his low chuckle fills the air, and you smile.


End file.
